


I’m Strong Enough (so I’ll let you in)

by LimitedMorality (pikagioma)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death Fix, Character Study, Endgame Fix-It, Fix-It, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Tony Stark Lives, in case you didn’t understand my hatred for this movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 11:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19150606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikagioma/pseuds/LimitedMorality
Summary: My hot take on what should have happened at the end of Avengers: Endgame, because denial is strong in this one and I suck at summaries.





	I’m Strong Enough (so I’ll let you in)

He felt nothing, and it was strangely peaceful to be floating, surrounded by blackness and a numbness so deep he knew better than to question it.

He had to be dead. This was usually what that ‘nothing’ meant.

_Right_?

Except, that couldn’t be it. Peter could still think and rationalise about this, and as far as he knew brain death was crucial to confirm the livelihood of a human being, not that he was an expert in biology or anything, so the fact that his synapses were firing signals through his nerves and allowed him to have a line of thought that didn’t end in hysterical screaming was probably a good indicator that he was, in fact, not dead.

He was rambling, too. All good signs.

Although, why was he not freaking out with the realisation was then another good question. What had he been doing before this? What happened that caused him to end up in this emptiness? What about the aliens, Mr Stark-

_Oh my god_. That had happened?

Things were coming back to him, slowly, and now Peter _was_ edging towards an anxiety attack. He remembered the helplessness when Thanos had hurled a literal moon at them, how everything had been falling apart, gravitational pull shot to heck, doing gymnastics like a champ to keep the others from flying off into space, blacking out from exertion. Then, bits and pieces of Dr Strange throwing butterflies—what even—at the purple monster, only to be flung back as well as Mr Stark had taken his place and had _fought_ with everything he had, followed by the sickening noise of his own blade buried in his abdomen and... 

They had lost, after all that.

Everything suddenly felt hopeless. What were they thinking, going against the most powerful being in the universe? This wasn’t like Germany, where punches were held back and there was understanding from both parties, deep down, that things had to be fixed somehow. This wasn’t like going against the Vulture, whom he knew was a man with principles and an extraordinary love for his daughter—whom he couldn’t just leave to die, because he didn’t deserve that.

This was pure manslaughter, bodies thrown around like puppets which strings were cut off, insignificant pebbles in a much greater being’s path. There had been no chances of winning from the very beginning.

Except.

Except Tony Stark hadn’t stopped.

He had kept fighting, and thinking, and coordinating the newly assembled team with the steady hand of an army commander. Even as their plan went to moot, he hadn’t given up—fighting fate just a little longer. He had protected them all, even when he knew it was a one-way ticket. 

Peter replayed what had to be his final moments with startling clarity—loosing feeling in his arms and legs, seeing bits and pieces of himself fly off and disappear into the sunset. He remembered stumbling, almost falling, and then being caught by strong arms, grounding him, keeping him together even as he dissolved into nothing. He remembered the whispered _sorry_ ’s and pleads to stop it, because how was he supposed to look out for him—for each other—if he was gone? 

Tony had looked so _sad_ , but Peter had no strength left, and could only stare at him until his eyes, too, were no more.

He had wanted to reach out to him, to hug him back and to tell him, jokingly: “ _Are we there yet, dad?_ ”

But he couldn’t.

And as he floated, wherever he was, he was filled with regret that the last proper talk they’d ever had was yet another fight, one they could have avoided if he’d just been a little more mature. It was his fault he was not-dead in the first place. He should just have listened-

 

... was there something _poking_ him?

Wait, he could hear a voice as well. They were calling out to him? Did he come back to the world of the living? Ugh, he regretted ever joking about those zombies he saw in movies—the unliving experience had to be confusing as heck.

“-er! Peter? Wake up, come on!”

Never in his life he’d imagined he’d be so happy to see a red cape prodding him in the side.

“Where is he?” Peter groaned as he sat up, orange dust and rocks sticking to his suit. This felt like waking up on a Monday—terrible and absolutely unneeded. 

The grim expression on the Doctor’s face woke him up better than a cold shower, though—he didn’t need to ask who ‘ _he_ ’ was. “He’s fighting Thanos on Earth. We have to go—the others are waiting for us.” 

“Y-yeah, yeah, I figured.”

A corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, the mage stood up to wave his strange— _hah!_ —hand-signs that Peter had come to associate with magic, orange sparks going off all around him when a large portal opened near them. He didn’t hesitate to jump in, gawking at the sheer amount of people waiting on the other side—was that Mr Rogers with Thor’s hammer?—he waved at the Guardians and smiled inside his suit when he saw Miss Potts with her own, sliding in from above. He recognised most people here, but there were a lot of… _people_ that clearly weren’t human. They made for an impressive sight—but Peter was looking for just one man.

Then there was no time to dwindle, Captain America gave the “ _ASSEMBLE_ ” signal and everyone, every ship, every living organism was charging towards the Chitauri that were pouring down the sky in hordes, the Mad Titan pointing his sword up and letting out a deafening cry of battle. 

“Karen,” he said, breathless and scared, “activate Instant Kill Mode.”

Peter barely caught the Doctor’s worried glance towards him before he was flipping skyward, using the approaching ships to gain himself the height advantage to start hitting the creatures from above—as a couple became a dozen, more, the action got repetitive and numbing, and he thanked the fact that they looked so different from human beings that he probably wouldn’t feel bad about it after all this was over. 

Knowing himself, it was a small chance.

Somehow, several minutes in, he managed to spot a familiar glimpse of red metal, and his heart started doing somersaults in tandem with his body—he had to get closer, to make sure he was okay, oh god was _he_ okay—and he barely managed to keep himself airborne. He unleashed the Iron Spider's legs as he landed, swiping carelessly at the Chitauri in his path as he made his way to where he could see white blasts firing, just a few feet away…

Suddenly there was nothing separating the two and Peter rushed forward retracting his mask, mouth on autopilot as he gestured wildly and told Tony about his good time on Titan, asking for clarification because there was no way he could take everything at face value here, he was a man of science and there had to be a logical explanation of all this and _of course Mr. Stark_ what about his injury he had been stabbed not an hour ago how was he still _standing_ -

Arms engulfed him, cutting off his mad rambling, and maybe things were going to be okay after all.

Belatedly, Peter thought about what he had wanted to say before he died-but-not-really, but he found the comfort in hearing the shallow breaths of his father—and he really was, wasn’t he—ghosting over his shoulder too precious to break with a joke. He’d have the time later, because he had no intention of limiting himself to just one hug—if Tony allowed it, anyway. The man had always been prickly about his personal space, Peter thought as he clutched on tighter. When he heard the light smack of a peck right over his hairline, he buried his nose into the genius’s neck, not quite succeeding in hiding his sudden trembling.

The moment ended soon enough, leaving the two staring at each other with shining eyes, wanting to linger but not having the time to.

“Kid,” _he had missed his voice so much, dammit,_  “you better keep safe, alright? We have to debrief when we’re done here.”

Peter just nodded wordlessly and remained trained on him until dad blasted his way off in the oncoming crowd of aliens. Then he turned and swung off to aid the nearest ally he could find—only to end up with an armful of golden gauntlet. 

He almost dropped it in surprise, but the voices pushing him on steadied him, somewhere in his brain registering that he had the thing that had started this whole mess right in his grasp, and that it would be extremely easy to just hurl it into one of the ships exploding under the Ant Man’s giant punches. He reined down his anger though, and kept swinging through the battlefield—he couldn’t afford to be egoist right now, the whole universe was depending on him to get that, frankly, hideous glove as far away from Thanos as possible. Peter smirked unsteadily back at Valkyrie when she picked him up with her pegasus.

Never a sentence he would have thought to actually make sense, but here he was.

Next thing he knew, he was falling, thinking frantically that this could be it and he might just come out of this as a smudge on the ground for the Chitauri to step on, but he instead slowed down to a halt and landed softly in a small crater big enough for his body to fit into and _dammit_ , this was not how he had envisioned his epic standoff with an alien army to go.

“Got something for me, Peter?” The amused, perhaps a bit condescending, voice of Captain Marvel rang out through the shouting around them, and Peter found himself nodding jerkily handing the gauntlet over, at this point beyond _done_ with having to babysit the offending piece of golden crap.

From there, he sort of just tried to stay hidden, scrapes and bumps and a couple of sprained joints making any sort of movement extremely difficult—he saw Thor fight with both the axe and the hammer, tag-teaming with the Captain and alternating heavy blows with clever strategy, and then Miss Danvers swooping down on them to clock the purple Titan in the jaw, which, _ow_ , but he had a hero worship complex now. They went on for a bit like this, and Peter was just about to get up again, advanced healing working overtime to mend the various injuries, when Thanos stood tall and proud over everyone he had knocked over, for one last time lifting his once more covered fist, shimmering blood red in the blazing fires and distant explosions that made for a really poor soundtrack, Peter mused distantly. This was one of those moments in movies when the orchestra swelled, cameras dilating time as they focused on more details at once to delay-

“ **I AM INEVITABLE.** ”

 

-exactly that.

He turned, a half ditched attempt to see something that… could… 

Peter’s eyes widened as he took in the Doctor’s pained features. He was focused not on him, but just above his shoulder. The kid knew exactly what, or better, _who_  he was looking at—their only hope, only paragon of strength, only chance they’d ever had. Like in slow motion, he lifted one trembling finger, and his words from their last battle echoed in his mind. 

“ _This was the only way._ ”

Terror taking over his face, a strangled shout lodged in his throat, Peter just launched himself on the other side of the fighting ring, towards the red blur standing even taller than Thanos, patronising in his all-encompassing glory. He was too late all the same—and the very same voice he longed to hear every day to remind him to keep his feet on the ground, the one that he now so fervently wished would just shut up, echoed in the silence of destruction.

“ **And I, am Iron Man.** ”

 

A snap of fingers. The resulting flash made everything disappear for a second and all eyes water—but he couldn’t close them, couldn’t tear them away from the man suddenly collapsing to the ground.

“No!” His shout cut through the general stupor, the chilling dread of what had happened distracting him from the ashes now filling the sky, and his heart felt like it was collapsing on itself, he refused to believe what he was seeing, the bold and fire and death and despair on everybody’s faces as he waded through the throng of people lining up to watch as his father-

As-

Peter fell on his knees. 

“Mr Stark?” A feeble voice that couldn’t _possibly_  be his own rose above all others, silencing the meek cries coming from where Miss Potts was huddled against War Machine. 

There was no answer.

“Mr Stark,” a sob, “Mr Stark, we won. You did it.” He couldn’t see clearly anymore, and Peter thanked his tears that were somewhat masking the truth of a broken and battered Tony Stark lying limply on the ground.

Still no answer, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

Peter launched himself on top of him, squeezing his shoulder plates with shaking hands, trying to hear himself over the rushing in his ears, trembling bodily but shouting with a determination he was sure wasn’t completely healthy—but it didn’t matter.

“Mr Stark, you saved everyone, you-you did it. _Mr Stark_ , p-please.”

There was a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off and just hugged the body under him as he had before. He wouldn’t give him up like that. There was still hope. Peter believed in his father, he always had, why shouldn’t he now.

Oh god, was this what dad had felt when he had almost-died? If so, he had an infinity of apologising to do, and he needed Tony to get up _right now_ -

“Mr Stark,” he was crying steadily now, clinging and shouting and _no no no_ - “Mr Stark- _Tony_ , p-please wake up. You can’t leave us- leave _me_ like this. _Dad_ , please, you literally just made me an A- _Avenger_ , and I need to stay at your side like- like a team. I did what you asked, I stayed safe so, you can’t just- just. I-I finally had you, _again_ , and now you can’t leave, be-because I w-won’t allow you to, we still need to celebrate my internship and, actually, t-there’s a science project I need help with for s-school, even though you don’t think that’s i-important-” 

Pain was not a stranger to Peter, and he knew all sorts of it—but he couldn’t have anticipated the emotional response this would get out of him. He was almost deaf and numb to anything outside of his little bubble of fear, and his thoughts were spiralling out of control faster than he could think them. He was blinded by irrationality-

 

-and that was probably why he didn’t notice the twitches and raspy breaths coming from below him.

When a shaky hand made to grab his arm, he almost jumped out of his skin—but he also got away enough from Tony’s chest to see that his deep, glassy brown eyes were open and directed at him. The man was _grinning,_ before a wet cough shook him head to toe. His right arm seemed to have vanished, but he was _breathing_ , and the cacophony around them picked up once again. 

“Hey, kid.” The air suddenly not enough to breathe in, and he wanted to give it all to the—alive, alive, _alive_ ,—idiot laying on the ground who appeared to have eyes only for him.

Peter wobbly smiled, heaving breaths in relief, and this time he couldn’t help it when he drew him in, gathering iron and man to his chest. He felt a light pat on his head and a deep chuckle vibrating through the armour, and he didn’t want to ever let go again.

“Yeah, I’d say we’re there now, right?” Came the breathy murmur, and he could tell from the smile in his voice that Tony had been holding back just as much as he had.

“S-shut up, dad,” he felt the plated arm circle his shoulders and tighten the hold a little. “You’re a real idiot.”

Another laugh. “People often tell me that, yeah.”

Peter closed his eyes, and yeah. Things were going to be okay. He wouldn’t be left alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> marvel can pry these two from my cold dead hands.


End file.
